Sam with emphasis.
"The same." The Hon. Sam silently followed the pair for a moment
through his big goggles.
"What do you think of my theory of the latent possibilities of the
mountaineer--now?"
"I think I know how true it is better than you do," said Hale
calmly, and with a grunt the Hon. Sam rode on. Hale watched them
as they rode across the plateau--watched them until the Gap
swallowed them up and his heart ached for June. Then he went to
his room and there, stretched out on his bed and with his hands
clenched behind his head, he lay staring upward.
Devil Judd Tolliver had lost none of his taciturnity. Stolidly,
silently, he went ahead, as is the custom of lordly man in the
mountains--horseback or afoot--asking no questions, answering
June's in the fewest words possible. Uncle Billy, the miller, had
been complaining a good deal that spring, and old Hon had
rheumatism. Uncle Billy's old-maid sister, who lived on Devil's
Fork, had been cooking for him at home since the last taking to
bed of June's step-mother. Bub had "growed up" like a hickory
sapling. Her cousin Loretta hadn't married, and some folks allowed
she'd run away some day yet with young Buck Falin.
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